Never tell
by Questionable Answers
Summary: Everyone keeps secrets. Some keep them better than others. Some secretes are worth dying for. Warning for violence and language, but mostly violence.


The man known as Vodka stood silently in the shadows. That's where he was best suited, in shadow both literal and metaphorical. His job description included criminal activities such as blackmail, extortion, intimidation and the occasional cold blooded murder, all of which required a certain element of stealth. When you work as part of an underground criminal corporation as ruthless and prolific as the organization, you had best be good at your job.

The organization had different words to describe people with different talents. There were shadows, able to move without being seen and kill with a whisper, and Magpies, with nimble fingers and sharp eyes, who gathered and horded information like so many shiny bobs. Vodka was an expert Motivator. With a little pressure in the right places, he could convince a man to steal from his grandmother, start up a smuggling ring, and murder his most prominent rival all in one go. He had recruited people against their will into an evil organization with, as he knew well, no way out. Even the more permanent aspects of people management were not strange to him and he wasn't one to shy from acts of violence, but unlike many of his peers, Vodka had never particularly enjoyed death. Enjoying power and control was not the same as enjoying pain.

Gin didn't just enjoy death and suffering; he thrived on it. Even if he hadn't been assimilated into the organization at a very young age, as so many of its top people were, Gin would have been a successful serial killer by know. To him, serving the organization was just a convenient means to a satisfying end. Watching Gin work was like watching a master paint. And like the man who knows nothing of art but is still appreciative of its beauty, Vodka couldn't help but marvel at his partner's skill. The man was a genius, a cold, efficient, terrifying genius of pain, and tonight he was in top form.

Gin and Vodka. They worked well together. Gin loved calling the shots and giving orders, but hated to do his own footwork and despised incompetent people. Vodka was competent enough, was fairly good at grunt work, and was much more comfortable with obeying a respected superior than he would have been on his own. If Gin was capable of feeling anything but glee after a murder, he might have found Vodka's reliance on him endearing. As it was, Gin worked with Vodka because he could stand no one else and because no one else could stand him. Sure the arrangement had its problems, but it was mutually beneficial most of the time, so it worked out.

Vodka stood with his back against the wall, giving his partner plenty of space, more out of self-preservation than consideration. Gin was unpredictable in the best of times, and Vodka wasn't stupid. This interview had just begun, and it was already going badly. Forcing their way into the apartment had been child's play: just knock on the door and tackle the girl before she knew what had happened. But then instead of being frightened and confused she had lashed out with a surprisingly powerful sidekick, and Vodka was knocked aside. She executed a quick turn and aimed a roundhouse at the taller and more menacing intruder. Gin had not liked that.

Now the girl was leaning heavily against the wall, favoring a leg, left hand clutching her right shoulder tightly. Her eyes, glazed slightly from shock and pain, still flashed with fire and defiance that Vodka couldn't help but be impressed by and that Gin clearly found irritating. It wasn't often Gin could shoot people, twice, and still have them demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing. Gin did not like being kicked at, he did not like being questioned, and he did not like being defied.

He raised his gun once more and fired, the quiet 'phwt' of the silencer fought with a quiet cry of pain for the right to be heard. The dying light of the sun filtered through the window, a sad and perfect backdrop to the scene. The girl somehow remained standing, though she had stopped spitting questions, insults, and threats of pain and punishment at them. Vodka saw Gin smile and he shivered in response. "Now that you understand, I just have one question for you." Gin paused and was both pleased and disappointed when the girl held her tongue. Then he spoke slowly and clearly, "Where Is Kudo Shinichi."

Brown eyes widened in fear before narrowing in fury. The girl stared straight down the barrel of a gun and into the eyes of a killer. When she spoke her words were measured, calm, clear: "I don't know where Shinichi is." Gin pretended to consider her response. Then he shot her again, this time in the abdomen slightly above her right hip. The wound, combined with a previous shot through her left thigh, sent her sliding down the wall to meet the ground. "Bullshit," the gunman snarled.

She slumped at an angle against the wall with her legs folded neatly beneath her in a gruesome parody of formality. She tried to stand, regain some ground and maybe try to make good with her threats, but her strong legs failed her and she whimpered for the effort. Gin laughed, harsh and cold. Vodka winced with a ghost of sympathy. He felt strangely moved by the girl's strength and character; it was really a shame she had to die.

Gin was still laughing when he kicked her in the lower ribs. The girl fell backwards coughing and gasping. "I don't …know." Her clear voice finally broke, hitched in the middle as she forced the breath from her lungs. Gin had leaned in, placing one foot on her slowly bleeding abdomen in a conqueror's pose. The girl flinched back but found nowhere to run. He shifted his wait a little, putting more pressure on his makeshift pedestal. "I swear I don't!"

Gin started to speak almost gently to her. He spoke of numerous rumors, of phone calls and sightings. He had no doubt that Kudo Shinichi was alive and in contact, he said, and he even had some idea where. He recalled to her how good it had felt to smash his arrogant head in and how good it would feel to do it again and this time make sure he stayed dead. Regretfully Gin told her that his employer thought the boy could be of some use, so Gin would have to wait for that satisfaction. He assured her that the more difficult she made his job, the more he would enjoy his time with the detective brat. And when Gin promised her an easy death in return for her cooperation, she believed him. She believed every word because there was no hint of mercy in his voice. She only responded: "I don't know."

"Well if you can't help us," Gin mused, "perhaps we should ask someone else." He smiled as her eyes flashed with fear rather than anger. "I wonder if the brat's parents know where he is. Or maybe it would be easier to ask the neighbor if he's seen Kudo around. Of course we wouldn't want to trouble them." He idly stepped on her splayed hand and ground his boot as if snuffing out a cigarette; he cried in pain, fear, and frustration "I don't know! I can't tell you!"

Continuing as if he hadn't heard her, Gin said "I wonder what tomorrows paper will read. _'Girl Found Dead in her Home'_ maybe, but I don't think that's big enough. We want the front page. _'Famous Sleeping Detective Sleeps Forever', 'Daughter of Suzuki Corp Missing, No Leads', 'Hit and Run, Young Boy Dies', 'Local High School Catches Fire, Tragic Loss of Life'_. What do you think your silence is worth, girl." As she listened to him paint a picture of blood and death for all she knew and loved, the girls face grew paler and her voice grew weaker, bet still she denied any knowledge of Kudo Shinichi's whereabouts.

This time, when Gin shot her in pure frustration, there was no accompanying cry of pain. Vodka looked at the girl lying in a slowly growing puddle of her own blood with tear track across her face and shuddered. It was times like this he wished he had never even heard of the black organization. Looking at her, he realized that though she was still alive, she would probably welcome her coming death. The fire in her eyes had dimmed to a bare ember, each breath she forced into her lunges bubbled and wheezed.

Vodka felt vaguely sick. It was times like this that he wished he had never heard of the organization. He couldn't keep silent, "Oy." Gins murderous stare turned on him and wordlessly communicated intense irritation. Vodka swallowed uncomfortably, a mouse caught in the eye of a snake. One wrong word or gesture could be the death of him.

Vodka and Gin worked well together, because Vodka wasn't as stupid as he looked. "We've been here too long." He spoke carefully chosen words with a flippant attitude, small talk. Not accusatory, just informative. "Let's finish this and go." Vodka pushed.

Gin looked down his nose at the mess in front of him. His grin was truly evil. "Time will finish this one. I won't make it easy for her." His long black coat swirled around him as he strode from the room. Vodka turned to follow, confidant that there would be no traceable evidence. They had a scenario in place to shift the blame onto a recent string of theft murders they had contrived; a local thug who liked to talk big had been 'motivated' into making good on some of his plans and threats and would eventually take the fall for this and several other attacks. He paused in the threshold to look back with regret. Then the moment passed, and he turned back to the shadows.

* * *

The worst part, Shinichi thought, of being a child was school. Definitely school. Day in and day out, learning basic kanji and basic math and basic social skills. It was dull and exhausting at the same time. Conan was bright for a seven year old, but Shinichi had to constantly keep tabs on everything he was and wasn't supposed to know. When he slipped up, said something just a little too smart, he blipped on peoples weird radars. Too many blips and people start wondering. People wonder long enough, and they start investigating. The last thing he needed was to be investigated. Conan was a little too inconsistent to hold up under close scrutiny. The Heiji debacle had proved that point quite clearly, despite the positive outcome.

School was especially bad when he had to pretend to be enthusiastic as well as stupid and simple minded, days such as today's trip to the zoo. He had spent the whole afternoon looking at monkeys scratching their own asses. The detective boys had been thrilled with the whole thing; you'd think they'd never seen an animal before. Shinichi had simply sighed taking the opportunity to practice his patience. It wasn't every day the school had field trips, and new experiences were always exiting to children, he couldn't deny them that. What annoyed him was that everyone expected him to be wide eyed with wonder when all he wanted to do was go home and finish reading his latest mystery novel. Or maybe he'd bug Takagi for the latest on the serial robbery-murder case.

There had been another earlier that week that had been more brutal then the last few. Shinichi had managed to tag along to the crime scene, and he overheard the police speculating that the criminal was escalating. That was bad, and the police had few leads and no suspects. As for evidence, they had collected a partial shoe print and a vague witness testimony. The latest victim's neighbor had seen an average looking man in a delivery truck just before the estimated time of death. The current theory was that the delivery man would knock on the door with a fake package, force his way into the target home, kill the resident, take whatever he pleased and then leave. The witness couldn't specify anything about the truck or the logo or the man himself, so essentially the police were stuck. All they could do was warn people not to open their doors to strangers and hope the killer made a mistake very soon.

Shinichi was hopping the man would be caught soon. Four people were already dead, and more would follow. Not everyone heeded police warnings. Aside from the culprits growing violence, something about the case was bothering Shinichi, but he couldn't figure out what exactly. It felt as if there was a shadow looming over him, just waiting for him to trip up so it could swoop in and eat him.

Okay maybe he was being a little dramatic, but he'd had the feeling of being watched more than once in the last week and it was starting to get to him. Haibara seemed a little on edge lately to, but she was moody at the best of times and he knew better than to question her. If there was something bothering her, she'd let him know. Probably. Shinichi had to remind himself he wasn't the only person who could keep a secret. Anyway, he'd feel better once the latest menace was safely in prison, and in the meantime he'd keep his guard up and get Ran to do the same.

At the thought of Ran, Shinichi glanced up at the sun, surprised at how low it was getting. Ran had said this morning that she would come walk home with him when his class got back from the zoo. They usually walked together after school anyway, but the trip had exceeded regular school hours. They had gotten back to school a little earlier than expected, so he hadn't been surprised when she wasn't already waiting for him. He had started back on his own, looking forward to a little time alone. After all, he wasn't the child that he appeared to be and was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He had half expected to meet Ran on the rout home though. He had been keeping an eye out just in case.

He turned the last corner and slowed to a stop. Something wasn't quite right. He started ticking of possibilities. The light was off in the office, but that wasn't strange considering the old man had been called to Hokaido for a case; the office was supposed to be closed for the week. Nothing was missing or out of place, so where was this feeling of wrongness coming from? Shinichi moved to continue walking when it suddenly caught his eye.

It was only visible for a moment before the flow of traffic carried it away, but there was no mistaking its distinctive look. A black porch 365A; Gins car. Shinichi whipped out his cell phone, dialling the emergency number as he broke into a run. As soon as the call connected he began barking orders and directions. When he hung up, he couldn't recall exactly what he had said, but he knew he would have an ambulance and the police at the agency in less than ten minutes. Now half way to the stairs, he quickly dialled another number.

"Hello?" the call was picked up after just one ring.

"Megure-keibu. Come to the agency right now. Don't tell anyone you wouldn't trust with your life." Shinichi's voice was remarkably steady as he sprinted toward the doorway.

"K-Conan-kun, what's going on? And how did you get my private number?"

"Tell you later. Just come." Shinichi hung up, because there was nothing else to say over the phone and because he had to concentrate on climbing the steps two at a time. His heart and mind were both working at full speed. He hoped desperately that he was wrong. The weird feeling he had picked up on in the past few days could just be pent up stress. The recent string of violent crime in the area could be Beika's turn of the wheel of statistics. That car could have belonged to an enthusiast who just happened to be driving by. It was possible, in fact likely that he would burst into the office just as Ran was leaving to pick him up. Then the ambulance and police would show up for no reason and he would have a lot of explaining to do. But his instincts told him something was very very wrong. Shinichi had listened to his instincts ever since they had warned him not to follow that man in black down a blind alley.

He shook his head and stretched his small legs as far as they would go. Nightmares floated in his head like an oil spill, covering every passing thought with muck and filth. Ran had been home alone. Ran had been Kudo Shinichi's best friend. Ran often complained that Shinichi didn't call more. Ran was the logical place to start a search for the missing presumed dead detective. Ran had been home alone. Ran was kind and gullible. Ran wasn't aware of the danger. Ran had been home alone.

He should have told her. He should have shared all of his secrets with her so she could have been more careful. That, or he should have never involved her in the first place, he should have left when he realized how dangerous his enemy was. But he had been selfish and arrogant. He couldn't leave her and he wouldn't let her in and they had suffered for it. And now there was a black porch 365A driving down the block and Ran had been home alone.

Muscles bunched beneath him and he leapt for the door knob. If he was wrong, he'd tell her everything. He'd take her and leave. There were plenty of places they could go, plenty of options that didn't involve putting either of them in danger if only Shinichi was willing to take a step back from the case. The FBI was already investigating, and so was the CIA. Shinichi's father had contacts all over the world, in governments, law enforcement organizations, writing and acting circles, and even a few crime rings. Shinichi didn't really need to help. Surely this reckless endangerment he had been practicing was unnecessary if he could just admit he was in over his head.

The door flew open and Shinichi froze. The average human body held about five liters of blood. Only five liters. Most people didn't realize how much, or how little, five liters was until it was spread out in front of them.

_Too late_. The thought rang in his ears, deafening him. He knew very well that losing as much blood as now stained the carpet was lethal. Blood carried vital oxygen through the body. When that oxygen wasn't delivered on time, organs started shutting down. In some cases, brain death could take a matter of minutes.

_Too late._ Shinichi took a half step forward not truly wanting to get any closer. He didn't want to confirm what he already knew. He was too late to save her. Too late to tell her. Something clattered at his feet and he looked down. It was a pen, one that he didn't recall seeing before. It had a logo on it, fast track something or other. He stared at it for a moment before the realization hit him. And then he got very very angry.

The pen was a typical company pen that might be carried by delivery personnel to make signing for packages easier. Shinichi was stunned and furious. They thought they could get away with this. They actually thought he would fall for this. He picked it up carefully. It was meant to be found; to lead investigators down the wrong path. Shinichi pocketed the planted evidence, there was no way he would allow them to pin this on anyone.

Shinichi knew already that the police wouldn't find anything relating to evil underground syndicates, but they didn't know what to look for. Shinichi did. Shinichi already had some information, and he was capable of finding more. Let the police scratch their heads and wonder. Shinichi would find them himself, would root them out, make them pay. Caution and ethics were a thing of the past; he had nothing left to loose. Ran had been his heart and soul, and also his conscience, but Ran was dead.

"Shinichi…" the whisper blasted a gaping hole in the small boys churning mind, leaving everything at a dead stand still. Shinichi turned slowly, without thought or hope, towards the sound. He stopped breathing. Ran had move, just a little, but she had shifted slightly under her own power. She wasn't dead.

A finger twitched, an eyelid fluttered. Ran wasn't dead. Not yet. Shinichi dove toward her, knees skidding over the soggy carpet. His hands hovered over her, afraid to touch, afraid to hurt. "Ran!" He shouted the whisper as loud as he dared. "Ran!" Nothing. Could he have imagined it? Could his mind have betrayed him in such a way?

"Shinichi." The sound was stronger this time. Her eyes cracked open, her gaze shifted over and past him, searching, unable to focus. "Shinichi." A bloodied hand lifted slightly. Shinichi snatched it into his own two small ones. "Shhh… don't try to move. Everything will be fine. The ambulance will be here soon, so you'll be all right." His voice was shrill with a knockout combination of panic and relief. He was rambling and he knew it, but it didn't matter because Ran wasn't dead.

"shini…" she tried again to focus.

"just keep breathing and you'll be fine, this will all be fine…" Shinichi kept on.

"Shini…"

"…so don't worry. We'll get you to a hospital and they'll…"

"shin…"

"…fix everything. Ran, you'll be all right. Everything will be all ri…" The slight tightening of her hand around his snapped Shinichi out of his growing panic as effectively as a bucket of ice water. His mouth shut with a snap. What was he thinking, sitting here babbling like an idiot? He was better than that; smarter. He should be doing something to stop the bleeding, or finding out everything he could that might be useful to the paramedics.

He looked at her seriously for the first time and paled. A cursory glance revealed at least five gunshot wounds, minor scrapes and cuts, and several less minor developing bruises. Her arm was lying at an odd angle, suggesting a broken bone. Probably at least two broken ribs based on the quality of her breathing. What worried him most was the swelling of her abdomen that spoke of internal bleeding, like she hadn't bleed enough already. Shinichi was at a loss. There was nothing he could really do. But he had to do something.

He rose to get the first aid kit Ran had insisted they keep in the office, but was stopped. "Shinichi." He looked down at his hand clutched in hers. Funny, because earlier he had been clutching her hand, now it seemed the other way around. He sat down dumbly.

"Shinichi….all right…." She took deep shuddering breath and tried again. "Thank God you're all right." Shinichi wondered how many times his heart could drop out of his chest without causing permanent damage. Was it possible…? No. She must have been hallucinating, seeing Shinichi in little Conan's face. He opened his mouth, but the word stuck in his throat, choking him.

His lack of words finally allowed all the space she needed to say what she had been trying to say. "I was so scared…they would find you. I was scared I would tell them." She tried to smile, but grimaced instead. "I didn't, Shinichi. I didn't tell them. I'm so glad…. I didn't tell them." She coughed a little. "They're looking for you. I didn't tell them, they don't know. But they're looking. Please be careful." She paused to catch her breath and her eyes fell closed. Before Shinichi could assume the worst she continued. "Take care of my dad, okay Shinichi? And everyone else too. They're looking…" Her whole body sagged, like the effort of talking had exhausted what energy she had left.

Shinichi stared at her, dread filling his stomach like he was drinking cement. "Ran! Don't leave me. Keep breathing. What do you mean? What do you mean you didn't tell them? Tell them what?" It couldn't be. That just wasn't fair. She couldn't have known, not after all the pain and grief his lies had caused them both, after all his selfish and futile attempts to keep her safe. It wasn't fair that she had ended up protecting him. "Ran. Please."

"Don't worry, Shinichi." Her voice was barely a breath, "They don't know where to look. I'm so glad I didn't tell them… You'll be fine." She closed her eyes again, as if to sleep. Her hand around his was too cold a comfort for a boy waiting desperately for the sound of a siren.

* * *

DONE

I wrote this sometime last year, but I broke my memory stick and thought I lost it. But I found a copy on my laptop. did some major editing from the origional tho. Anyway. I was thinking it could be the first in a series of oneshots themed on keeping secretes. What do you think? Leave as is or set up for epic horror adventure? does Ran live or die?

PS: I'm really proud of this, but feel free to bash some style into me if it isn't good enough. The point of writing is to improve, so you'd better have something negative to say about it.

PSS: Thanks for the time


End file.
